


Is This How You Wanted This to Go?

by Arrestzelle



Series: Rammstein Requests [14]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Drabble Collection, Falling In Love, Kissing, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24684649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Paul is a young prostitute that works at a brothel Till regularly visits.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Till Lindemann
Series: Rammstein Requests [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523702
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	Is This How You Wanted This to Go?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GwendolenFairfax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolenFairfax/gifts).



> This is a drabble request for @msgwendolenfairfax on Tumblr! Hope you like it!!
> 
> This is based in the [Red Ribbon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15410712/chapters/35766435) universe.

A candle glows. The window is ajar, casting a breeze into the dark room. The air is cool, and smells of soap. He has yet to spill the bathwater into the back alley. It sits, frothing with suds, in the center of the room. A trail of droplets revealing where he had been, and where he now sits. At the vanity mirror lit by candle, Paul is perched on a chair draped in knitted quilts. Naked and dripping, he draws back his long hair and ties it back in a demure manner, fingers skilled yet quiet. Those locks made heavy by water sit perfectly between his shoulder blades, framed by freckled shoulders. The hair at his hairline is shorter, in a state of tasteful disarray that frames his boyish face as if to further exacerbate his youth: carelessness and whimsy. He turns to look at me. Those piercing, ambiguously gray eyes grab me by the collar and pull me forward, out of the poetic hole of my mind.

“Now that you’ve feasted your eyes upon the clumsy performance of me bathing, will you say that your appetite is whet, or only worsened?”

His voice is higher, an example of his age, but still sharp with wit and confidence. The tiny smirk that grows on those pink lips is endearing. A boy—a _man_ —of his appearance should rather be the face of a gentleman’s magazine than recycled and sullied by the hands of said men. A shame. But even so, if that were our reality, it means he wouldn’t be within grasp of my own. Would I want to release a juvenile, untainted mouse into the world, to give it freedom, ever curious and explorative, or rather shall I keep it safe, persuade it, mold it into the perfect pet I want it to become?

I never claimed to be a selfless man.

“Some undetermined place in-between,” I say, my voice emerging more rough than I anticipated. Paul’s smirk becomes a smile, albeit hushed. He rises from the chair. My eyes, untethered, swim down along the milky canvas of his body. Freckles broken by bruises are spilled across that canvas. Bruises made by my hands, my lips, my teeth.

“Is this how you wanted this to go?” he asks me, casual yet somehow sensual in the way he leans over, twisting his fingers around the base of his ponytail with both hands, and _pulling,_ one hand gripping the base, wringing out the remnants of that bathwater. “To remain in that undetermined place, or progress into something more?”

“You know I am not a demanding man,” I answer, voice lost in my enchantment, my gaze never once leaving his body, his face, his pleased eyes. “No matter what we choose to do, time with you is invaluable. Even so, I’d like to have you beside me. Come here.”

A coy grin splits across his precious lips. He nods and approaches the bed. Sitting upon the foot of it, I maintain dignity through my black work pants, the suspenders keeping them fixed, and the loose white undershirt below. Meanwhile, Paul wears only that blue ribbon in his hair.

“All you had to do was ask,” he whispers with that grin lingering, those mischievous eyes alight with amusement. Fluidly, he climbs onto my lap, straddling my thighs, hands finding my broad shoulders. My stomach is tight with anticipation, my heart warm with adoration. My touch finds his hips easily. Calloused fingers unfit to rest upon the soft flesh found here, but unyielding in doing so regardless.

“And so I did,” I reply quietly, finding myself close to mute once more. Despite being the elder among the two of us, the more experienced, the more wicked, I can barely meet his eyes. Paul is completely in control here, and yet he isn’t expected to be. But I am unable to regather the reins in my own hands—I’d rather give them up to him. He can take us wherever he wished to, to do whatever he wanted. I’d give him myself totally, and he is aware of this. A fool that had fallen for the fawn.

The crows caw beyond the open window, and the candlelight flickers all around us. Long shadows cast across all walls and corners—falling even from Paul’s eyelashes. Hands roaming across the rise and fall of his waist, his rib cage, I lean in to kiss them. He closes his eyes, and he quietly giggles. They tickle under my mouth. I continue my trek of appreciation, of worship—whispering my lips across the fan of his eyelashes. Overlapping the freckles dusting his cheeks. Down to those smiling lips, submerged under my own.

A slim hand curls around my jaw, gentle yet somehow firm. Gripping me, owning me. Our mouths purse together, unhurried, tender, a dance led by a seductive lie. Love.

Kissing him is my closest contact to heaven. He smells like the spring, tastes like the sun. Those plush lips are eager and practiced, his tongue soft and shy as it introduces itself to the dance. My hands have reclaimed themselves; they slide around to his back almost subconsciously on my part. Fingers curling into that long, wet ponytail. Feeling the silk of the ribbon spilling across my roughened knuckles.

“Stay with me until the morn,” he whispers against my mouth, fingers unrelenting in their hold around my jaw. I’m crushed under the weight of my own happiness, to hear him want me like so. I want to sink into him, to cherish him infinitely, to never live life beyond this moment. I nod slowly against his forehead, into his hand, more than willing to give him myself in this moment, as well as the rest of my life for however long he wishes to claim it. I am his more than he is mine.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
